It was clear winter night with a sliver of a moon and the
visibility from thirty-seven thousand feet was a hundred miles. Both the Big
Dipper and Orion hung bright in the sky, and I felt like if I stared into that
starry sky hard enough, I could look into God’s eyes. But instead, my emotions
pulled me, and my gaze, earthward. I was passing over Kentucky.
Years ago I read a science fiction short story by Philip
José Farmer that I have never forgotten. The crew of an experimental starship
manages to exit the outer boundary of our universe only to find other
“universes” floating in space. When they realize where they are, it takes
everything in them not to panic from the homesick feeling that overcomes them. He wrote - “It takes a special type of
man or woman to lose himself from Earth or his native planet, to go out among
the stars so far that the natal sun is not even a faint glimmer. It also takes
special conditioning for the special type of man. He has to believe, in the
deepest part of his unconscious, that his ship is a piece of Mother Earth. He
has to believe; otherwise, he goes to pieces.”
No matter how far we go. No matter how high we fly. No
matter the distance through time or space. We always anchor ourselves in a
singular reference – Home.
We were travelling west and our flight path took us just
south of Lexington, almost over the top of Elizabethtown. Off to my left the
lights of Nashville beckoned, as they have beckoned to many a dreamy-eyed
singer hoping for country-music fame. On my right the lights of Louisville and
all its commerce filled the horizon. A ribbon of highway full of headlights and
taillights connected the two cities. My eyes were looking for the lights of the
truck stop on I-65 not far from the farm where my parents still live.
A strange feeling gripped me as I followed the lights and
zeroed in on the farm. I felt like a little child standing in front of the
living room window with his nose against the glass as the ice cream truck
ambles by. I felt like the child at the school bus window as he watches his
mother wave goodbye and disappear from sight. I felt like the lonely college
student stuck on campus during the holidays because he didn’t have enough money
to go home. I felt like the soldier deployed to a far away land staring at the
horizon wondering about his family. I felt like the tourist on vacation that
even amidst all the fun and revelry, suddenly feels empty. Yes, we have all
felt that feeling, and even after all these years of traveling for a living, I
was homesick.
Homesick is a funny word. It almost sounds like you are sick
of home, which is the feeling that most teenagers feel as they approach the age
of maturity and can’t wait to get away from home. Or maybe a sickness has
invaded the home. Using the word “sick” leads one to believe that it is an
actual illness. Judging from the feeling in my stomach that night, I would
describe it as a sick feeling indeed. Interestingly enough, it is a sickness for
which there is no cure. You can suppress it, distract it, and work it to death,
but you can’t eradicate that feeling. You can temporarily suspend it by going
home, but as soon as you leave the comfort of your home, the deadly disease
comes right back. Homesickness simply has no cure.
Within a matter of minutes we crossed the Mississippi river
and put Kentucky behind us.
I sat there pondering the nature of our modern society and
the speed at which it moves. With a click of a button we can connect to
thousands, perhaps even millions, of people all over the world. We can share a
snapshot of our life and display it for anyone, and everyone, to see right from
the palm of our hand. In a matter of hours, not days, we can cross the globe in
relative comfort and ease. We rush from place to place in planes, trains and
automobiles always trying to arrive somewhere. We seem to have this incredible
itch to move and connect that can never be satisfied.
A while later on the same flight, we passed just north of
the little town of Burkburnett, Texas. Once again I followed the lights of the highways
and streets and could barely pick out the first house my wife and I built. That
feeling of homesickness came right back, but this time I was sick for the
family she and I had made together. I thought about the memories of that house
in north Texas, and all the other houses we have lived in. I thought about all
the birthday parties, family dinners, school functions, sporting events, and
trips to the emergency room. I got the overwhelming sensation that I was
detached from life and watching it from a distance. Homesickness has no cure.
